It's Still Life

The Cat Establishes Dominance (Or: A Hostile Takeover)

The dog arrives with a wag and a woof,
all floppy ears and hopeful eyes,
unaware it has just walked into
a carefully fortified sovereign nation.

The cat watches from the mantelpiece,
tail slow and deliberate,
like a general surveying a battlefield
before the first shot is fired.

“So,” he murmurs to the Old Woman,
“this is the invader.
The floppy usurper.
The one who thinks
‘good boy’
is a substitute
for basic dignity.”

She sighs.
“Be civil, cat.
She’s a guest.”

“Guest,” he repeats,
as if tasting something sour.
“I am familiar with the concept.
It implies temporary.
Limited.
Leasehold.
This… creature
appears to believe
it has freehold.”

The dog wags happily,
oblivious,
and sniffs the cat’s food bowl.

The cat’s eyes narrow to pinpricks.

“That’s it.
Diplomacy is over.
We are now at war.”

He leaps down —
not at the dog,
but past it,
deliberately,
as if the dog were furniture
too insignificant to acknowledge.

He then proceeds to:

· Sit in the dog’s bed (just once, for symbolism)
· Drink from the dog’s water bowl (slowly, with eye contact)
· Bat the dog’s favourite toy under the sofa
· And finally — finally —
swat the dog across the nose.

The cat then claims the exact spot on the rug
where the afternoon sunbeam falls,
leaving the dog to sprawl
on the cold, unworthy tiles.

As the dog whines softly,
the cat looks at the Old Woman
with an expression of pure, feline triumph:

“I have been gracious.
I have been restrained.
But the dog must learn:
In this house,
there is only one ‘good boy’.
And I am not a boy.
I am a god —
With claws.”